Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Well, that’s going to stop. I see Noah for who he is, and right now, I don’t want this night to end. We already know each other. I feel like I might know him better than nearly anyone at this point. Same for him with me. I’ve shared things I haven’t told anyone.
"Thank you. You’re amazing too, Noah.” Our eyes lock, our breaths pacing with each other, and fireworks shooting between us. “I think I want to continue where we were before . . . at your place.”
It doesn’t even take him a heartbeat to catch on to what I’m saying. “Are you sure, Riley?” I nod, and he steals my breath, not with a kiss but by opening the door and almost shoving me inside the SUV before running around to the driver’s side.
Chapter 12
Noah
The elevator dings, and my nerves are raw. I never expected to be this unfiltered, unarmored. With anyone. I told Riley about my dad, for fuck’s sake, and the only people who know about that are Mom, Arielle, and River. My control is slipping from my fingers, but instead of scrabbling to get it back, I want to let go completely.
She’s worth it. She deserves that.
And now, here I am, showing her a part of myself that I don’t even think I can put into words. This apartment is both my pride and my biggest guilt. I could live in a cheaper place, freeing up money to send more home to Mom and help Arielle out, but this is what makes me feel like I’ve made it. Like I won’t ever again be that little boy who was hoping for a trash sandwich. And I’ve seen Mom’s eyes when she comes over—the relief that we all survived, her pride that she was able to provide for Arielle and me, and her joy in my success.
It’s ridiculous to be nervous about an apartment. I know that. And I’ve had women here before. But none of them knew me the way Riley does, and that makes all the difference.
I snag my keys and finally get them in the lock, twisting the key and opening the door. “Come on in.”
From the moment I hit the lights and we walk in, I know I worried for nothing. Riley looks around with interest, but there’s no judgment. She’s not impressed by trappings that way. Instead, I think she’s enjoying seeing how I choose to live, what creature comforts I’ve chosen, and getting to know me in another new way. I feel the weight of nervousness lift off me.
“Wow, I love it,” Riley says as she crosses my living room, dropping her purse on my small dining table.
Seeing her here fills the space with a life I hadn’t noticed it was missing, like she brings energy with her, sprinkling it in her wake with every step.
“Me too. It’s not as cozy as your place, but it’s home, you know?”
She beams at the compliment to her apartment. “I like bright colors and suns, and the clean background to let them all shine. But that’s not you. This is you. Classic, quality, and maybe a bit showy.” She winks with the last bit, and I shrug, not offended.
“Confident, not cocky,” I say, agreeing with her. “Look at this.” I guide her over to the window on the far left of the living room and place my hands on her upper arms, lining her up just right in the prime spot for the view. “Right there,” I say, pointing out the window across the span of sky and buildings. “You can see the logo on the top of Life Corp. It’s what let me know this was the one. I can see my future from here.”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers reverently, understanding why that would be so important for me.
With her back to my chest, part of me wants to jump right back to where we were, push her up against the window, and ravage her.
I want her. Desperately. But I want more than that with Riley.
“Would you like some wine?”
She looks over her shoulder at me, nibbling her lip nervously, and I know I made the right choice.
“Sit down. Let me grab it.” I step back from her, feeling the loss of her heat, and head to the kitchen. I can still see her over the island counter as she sits down on the leather couch, crossing her legs demurely.
I pop the cork on a bottle and pour two glasses. Carrying them back to her, I hand her one and sit down beside her.
“Thank you. A toast?” she asks, holding her glass with delicate fingers.
“To pasts that shaped us, presents that fulfill us, and futures that are better than we can dream.” I clink my glass against hers, and we take sips, eyeing each other over the rims.